Ex-Communication Peter Clines (ebook smartphone .TXT) 📖

could barely close its mouth. Half a dozen stubby horns circled its scalp like a weird crown or something.

It had the third kid by the ankles, hanging him upside down so the boy’s eyes and its were level. Its tongue was out, this long thing like a snake. It was poking the kid on the nose. The kid was bawling, almost drowning in his own snot. There was a glossy stain on his jeans and it was creeping into his shirt as it followed gravity.

“Hey,” I shouted. “Put him down, whatever you are.”

I felt stupid as soon as I said it. Monsters don’t generally understand English. It was going to take a bite out of the kid if I didn’t hurry up.

But it didn’t. It turned to look at me. Its eyes shifted and it bared even more teeth.

And then it spoke.

“Well, well, well,” it said. It had a deep, cultured voice. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was that old British actor, Lee something, who’d been in Lord of the Rings and Man with the Golden Gun. “The Mighty Dragon,” it continued, “what a wonderful surprise this is. Please believe me when I say I am a great admirer of yours.”

It flipped the kid in its hand—a huge, long-fingered hand, like its arms ended in spiders—and set him down on his feet. He ran as soon as his shoes were on the ground. I let him race past me to get clear.

The monster took a step toward me. I noticed it was wearing a silver necklace, some pendant or something, the size of a halfdollar. Its claw-tipped fingers wiggled with excitement. “I must say, what an exquisite cologne you have on,” it said. “What is that scent?”

I took a step back. Then another one, out of the alley. “I don’t know what you’re—”

It followed me out onto the boardwalk. It wafted the air around its face and took in a deep breath through slitted nostrils. “Ahhh, of course,” it rumbled, “now I recognize it.” Its back curled and it leaned its head down toward mine. The pendant swung back and forth on its neck. Its mouth split in a toothy grin. “Fear.”

I was a little freaked. It’s one thing to be fighting street gangs and pitching in on Amber alerts. It’s another when some CGI nightmare slithers out from between a few garage-stalls.

In retrospect, my reaction was a little … well, comic-book, I guess. I mean, he could’ve been a stranded alien or something. I didn’t know. I just saw this big nightmare thing loping down the alley at me talking about fear.

So I punched it.

It hurt. Whatever it was, it was a lot more solid than it looked. It staggered back a few feet, but the tail lashed around to help it keep its balance. It reached up and felt its jaw, just like a person would. Its fingers were all stretched out, too, with big claws on the tips. I bet it could’ve palmed a car tire.

I braced myself for it to charge and felt the tickle in the back of my throat that meant I had fire waiting.

For a moment its face twisted up in a scowl. Pure rage. I was about to die. No doubt in my mind. But maybe I’d keep it from hurting a few more folks.

Then it took a deep breath and let it out through the forest of teeth. “Ahhh,” it said. “Forgive me. I do sometimes speak out of turn.”

“What?”

It stood up straight, or as straight as it seemed able to do, and bowed. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Cairax Murrain, infernal viscount of the Abyss, Reaver Lord, and newly arrived hero of Los Angeles.” Its tail thrashed at this. It took a chunk out of one of the concrete trash cans that dotted the boardwalk.

I was still a little confused. I think I said “What?” again.

“We fight the same battles for the same cause, oh Mighty Dragon,” it said. “When I adopt this form, all my strengths and powers are set to the causes of truth, justice, and so on and so forth.”

I risked a glance over my shoulder. “What were you doing with the kids?”

The monster shook its head and made a clicking sound with its tongue. “Such a shame,” it said. “The bourgeoisie youths releasing their primal instincts on a helpless drunkard.”

It gestured behind it. A homeless man with a bloody face was curled in a ball. While I watched he glanced up at the thing looming over him. He shook his head, whined, and buried his face deeper in his arms. AA was going to have a new member in the morning.

“A nonviolent lesson was in order,” continued the monster. “Fear is such a wonderful deterrent, and whets the appetite as well. Although,” it said, striking a thoughtful pose, “was I all that different as a boy? Or is that just Cairax adjusting how I see my own memories?”

I wasn’t entirely sure what it was talking about, but I thought I was starting to get the gist of it. “You … you’re a person? A human being?”

“Indeed. Hidden within this frame is one of the greatest sorcerers of our generation.”

“Okay,” I said. I guess as back stories went it was interesting. “What was your name again?”

“Cairax Murrain.”

“Cairax,” I echoed. “Sorry about, y’know, the punch. I just saw a monster with a kid.”

“Of course,” said Cairax with a dip of his head. “Although, what is it they say about first impressions?”

“You only get one chance with them?”

The monster grinned. “So often, they are correct.”

ST. GEORGE HUNG in the air over the water tower. It wasn’t the highest point inside the Big Wall, but it was familiar to him. He needed a good dose of familiar.

It had been two nights since Cairax had died or been banished or whatever. St. George had flown Freedom to the hospital. Stealth and Madelyn passed through the South Gate of the Big Wall forty minutes later, and ten